The Shape of My Will
by MapleWolf
Summary: All they want is to be free, even if it means forfeiting immortality for death's gentle embrace. And this time, there's nothing Russia can do to get them back.


De-anon from the kink meme.

Warning: group suicide, mentions of past abuse/deaths, angst.

* * *

_If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will._ -Antonin Artaud

The wind howled outside the cave, the blizzard raging that it couldn't reach them.

Inside, six white candles, burnt down to stubs for the wax that formed the circle in the center of the cave, littered the ground; and three Nations faced the cold with little more than ragged jackets and the soothing burn of Russia's finest vodka, along with the dim hope that this would be the end.

Lithuania paced, leaving a trail of blood where his feet touched the ground.

Latvia curled up against the wall, clutching two bottles to his chest as he downed a third with rapid gulps.

Estonia sat just outside the wax circle and chanted slowly, drawing on a language he hadn't used for centuries. There was always a chance that it wouldn't work – he'd invented this ritual, and this was the first time it was being used – but somewhere deep inside, he knew it would.

If only because magic wasn't science, all heartless and calculated. Magic drew upon the emotions of the one who summoned it, it was a chaotic, fickle thing, not to be trifled with.

But fueled by his desperation and need, by the fear and the anger and the longing to be free that resided in his brothers as well as him, it would grant their wish.

It would allow them to stay dead.

The wax seemed to glow as the last syllable fell from his frozen lips.

"It's ready." He swallowed the last dregs from his bottle, welcoming the warmth that flowed down his throat. "We're ready."

Lithuania's eyes were bright, filled with a tentative hope Estonia had never seen before, with only a shadow of fear. "We will finally die," he breathed, more to himself than anyone else, as tears welled up in his eyes. "Finally."

Latvia was less enthusiastic, eying the wax circle warily. "Y-you're sure?" His cheeks were flushed from the cold and the alcohol, the dark bruise over his swollen eye standing out even more. He trembled and fidgeted, unable to sit still for the anxiety in his veins. "H-He'll kill us if it d-doesn't work!"

Perhaps he didn't want to die, to vanish from existence for good, as humans did.

Perhaps he was afraid of what comes after, that it might only be more of the same.

Or, after knowing little else but Russia, perhaps he simply wasn't capable of understanding that there were forces more powerful than Russia could ever be.

Whatever the case, Estonia gestured for Latvia to come closer, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"It will work," he whispered reassuringly. "It won't even hurt – we'll just fall asleep and never wake up again. Not even when Russia comes for us."

"R-really?"

Estonia nodded, stroking Latvia's hair. "I just need a few drops of blood from you for the ritual to be complete. Can you do that?"

"Mm-hmm."

Estonia hummed softly as he drew the knife across the pad of Latvia's thumb, whispering quiet apologies when Latvia gasped and flinched at the pressure. When he was done, he kissed the injury, letting Latvia curl into his chest for comfort.

Lithuania crouched down beside him and offered his own hand without flinching, barely even blinking as the knife cut into his skin. He looked tired, for all that his eyes shone like the world had finally given him something to make up for history's pain, and Estonia tugged him down easily.

"Rest, Litva" he was told, a half-empty bottle of vodka pressed into his hands. "It will all be over soon."

_Over_, Lithuania mouthed the word, leaning into Estonia's side with a sigh. "Thank you, Estoniya."

He didn't know how to respond to the sincere gratitude in Lithuania's voice, and so he settled for resting his hand over Lithuania's calloused fingers, squeezing gently in acknowledgment.

He pulled away only for a moment, letting three drops of his own blood fall into the circle, and then he was once again clinging to Lithuania and Latvia, the tears burning at his eyes.

"_Let us leave this world for good," _he chanted, barely noticing the hand that wiped the teardrops from his cheeks. "_With blood freely given and longing hearts, we beg for the freedom of a mortal's death."_

Then the circle did glow, the blood seeping into the wax, spreading and mixing. Estonia could feel the magic pulling at him, testing him. He could tell that the others felt it too, from Lithuania's quiet gasp and Latvia's whimper.

He could tell when it finally settled, as his limbs grew heavy and _something_ seemed to be missing.

"We can die now," Lithuania breathlessly voiced his thoughts. "Just like humans."

Just like humans.

Knowing that death was the end, that only oblivion awaited them.

Estonia smiled, pressing a kiss to Latvia's forehead and another to Lithuania's cheek before grabbing another bottle of vodka to stave off the cold.

He wasn't afraid of oblivion.

After all, what was oblivion compared to Russia?

xx

Curled up next to the closest thing he had to brothers, Lithuania smiled. Though the vodka kept him from feeling the cold, he could tell that his body was slowly shutting down.

He knew that he should probably be frightened of never waking up again, but he wasn't.

Death was nothing to be afraid of.

Certainly it was nothing new.

Lithuania could spend hours listing the number of ways he'd died, from poisonous berries when he was a young, curious Nation, to bleeding out before Russia realized just how far he'd gone with the whip.

The most painful had been when Russia had skinned him slowly, as punishment for hiding and reading illegal books.

The slowest had been hunger, locked away for days without a scrap to eat after Russia had caught him making Lithuanian food.

He'd even died of the cold several times, trying to escape. It never worked. Russia would always come after him, dragging his frozen body back to the house, and when he finally woke, the punishment was always brutal.

It was the waking up that Lithuania was afraid of.

The slow, agonizing ache as his body finished repairing itself.

The knowledge that death changed nothing.

Only now - Lithuania nestled closer to Estonia, allowing himself to feel happier than he could remember being in a long, long while - now, it would change _everything_.

–

Come morning, when the storm finally came to a halt, and the sun began to shine, Russia would find them.

Hand in hand, the three Nations pressed together as though to ward off the cold. Their eyes closed, and their faces content.

He would drag them home, and warm them up, angry and sad and ready to make them understand that they couldn't keep trying to run from him like that.

Only they would never wake up.


End file.
